Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The Viper

C lan Tibel’s encampment was quiet as I approached. I half expected a greeting with more soldiers and walked beside Alza with my saber drawn, but no riders charged me. However, the camp was much larger than I’d expected, even larger than the one I had left, of Clan Katal joined with three others.

Standing at the edge of the tents lining the camp stood five figures, three men and two women, all wearing leather armor and bearing swords, although none were drawn. They all had their hands clasped behind their back, posture stiff. I walked right up to them, not halting until I was a horse length away.

“I come with an offer for Clan Tibel from Lord Alasdar of Clan Katal,” I started without preamble.

“We know why you’ve come, Viper.” The man in the middle practically spat my title. His blue sash marked him as a belonging to Clan Tibel, and the gold inlay on the handle of the dirk at his waist made me guess he was the lord I had come to treat with. The others all had different color sashes, and I frowned beneath my mask.

“Then you will also know that it would be unwise to refuse me.”

The falcon chose that moment to emit a soft squawk and ruffle its wings, as if in reminder of the fate that met his former master. The lord of Clan Tibel glanced at the bird, expression hardening even further.

“And you would be unwise to assume that the remaining clans of the Ballan Desert will be so easily bullied,” cut in one of the women bearing the maroon sash of Clan Padra.

“The five clans of the Ballan Desert that have not joined with Lord Alasdar stand together. We do not wish to join your war,” cut in another of the men, a scar running across his jaw giving him away as a hardened warrior.

I stared, realizing that the five people before me were the five lords of the remaining clans, all gathered before me in a unified front. Magic surged within me at the realization, anger that they would stand against Clan Katal, against the Viper, bubbling beneath my skin. Sand at my feet began to rise unbidden, the start of a whirlwind forming around my calves.

“If you raze our encampment, it will not sway us to your cause,” the lord of Clan Tibel claimed, even as the whole group stepped back from the crackle in the air around me, the earthy smell of magic rising. They could likely sense the magic of the desert and harness it to some degree, the lord of Clan Padra better than most if I were to judge by the glimmer of blood glass on the hilt of her saber. Still, while they had the prowess to lead their clans in battle, none of them would be able to stand against my fury if it came unleashed.

I blinked to clear my vision, which threatened to blur out in the flare of magic I fought to contain. While I held the hilt of my saber in one hand, I gripped the blade in the other, squeezing until the sharp edge bit into my palm, pushing away the sensation of the desert in my mind that threatened to overwhelm me. I could not fail in this mission and destroy those I needed to be my allies.

“If you know of my cause, then you know why Lord Alasdar seeks to unite the clans,” I grit out.

“We know the desert becomes harsher by the day,” the lord of Clan Padra conceded, “but it could be Lord Alasdar fashioning himself as a false Champion of the Desert that has stirred her ire.”

“The desert has no Champion,” I spat. It was an absence felt by all the clans, but Clan Katal most sharply of all. After the last Trials, the competition held every twenty years to crown the desert’s Champion, no winner had emerged.

“Perhaps that is why she is angry.”

“Even if it is, Kelvadan must fall. The city has taken over the Trials so no true Champion of the Desert may emerge. The abandonment of the old ways, of the clans, where strength and survival were the only rules, has made her angry,” I argued. It was the truth, but only part of it. Kelvadan had ushered in an era of peace between the clans, when the constant struggle for power was inherent to the old ways. I knew why it was imperative that Kelvadan fall to restore the glory of the desert, but that secret belonged to me and Lord Alasdar alone.

The lords before me seemed unconvinced.

“Surely you have felt the magic stirring.”

The lord of Clan Padra shifted on her feet.

“On my way here, I was attacked by a Sichat. You can still see its claw marks on my horse’s leg. I managed to fell it, but how many lesser riders would it kill? How long before other creatures of legend, lava wyrms and flying terrors, rise and attack the clan? We must do something.” My voice remained firm, and I pushed aside the notion that I was begging. The Viper did not lower himself.

The assembled leaders looked between themselves. They too had sensed the growing sense of foreboding in the magic holding the desert together. It had begun years ago, so subtle that nobody could pinpoint the day it first appeared. Perhaps something had always been there and was just amplified so those sensitive to it could notice. By now, it was so pronounced that even those not attuned to the magic of the desert could feel the heaviness in the air, the thick sense of a threat lingering just over the next horizon.

“We will only follow the true Champion. We will not risk angering her further by uniting the clans under one who has not been victorious in the Trials,” the lord of Clan Tibel declared.

I gritted my teeth. If the old ways had been upheld, Lord Alasdar would have been victorious in the Trials twenty years ago, but the weakness of Kelvadan kept him from being crowned Champion. Before the founding of Kelvadan, the Trials had been fights to the death, the duels conducted in the old ways of the clans. Now, those who killed their opponents were expelled from the competition.

“The Trials are a farce,” I argued.

“The Trials are one of the oldest traditions of the clans, from far before Kelvadan was carved from the mountainside. While they may be held in Kelvadan and presided over by the queen now, if you claim to follow the old ways, you would be wise to honor them as tradition,” the man with the scar interjected.

“The Trials are to be held at the end of the dry season, a few new moons from now. If a Champion emerges, we will unite in this war against Kelvadan,” the lord of Clan Tibel announced.

“Lord Alasdar would not be permitted to enter.” I gripped my sword tightly again, the bite of metal against my gloved palm keeping me from losing patience with the conversation.

The lord of Clan Padra tilted her head, and the hint of a smirk toyed with the edge of her lips. “You could enter the Trials, Viper. If you are as fearsome as the rumors say, then you should be able to best all the competitors and emerge victorious.”

I stiffened, remaining silent. The Trials were months away and the desert was fraying faster by the day. I was wary of visiting Kelvadan without an army in tow—and without Lord Alasdar.

“These are the only terms we will accept. You must win the Ballan Trials, or we will not join with Clan Katal,” the man with the scar declared. They had clearly discussed this prior to my arrival.

“Your clans will be vulnerable until then,” I pointed out.

“It is why we have camped together.” The lord of Clan Padra folded her arms. “Our numbers are even greater than what you boast at Clan Katal’s encampment.”

My gaze darted down the line of clan leaders, and I knew this was the only way forward without killing many riders who would be needed if the clans were to ride against Kelvadan.

“Then it’s agreed.”

I would ride in the Trials.

As much as I would have rather rode out that night, camping on my own somewhere in the wilderness, I found myself accepting the lord’s begrudging invitation to stay at their combined encampment. We had settled on a truce of sorts with our agreement, and so there was a hesitant peace. More importantly though, as healed as Alza was, she could benefit from another day or two before we set out.

I spent a long while tending to Alza in the enclosure a rider showed me to keep her in. I brushed her out, ensuring she obtained arrowgrass and water, muttering praises to her under my breath as I fussed. At one point, the horse master had approached me, offering to look at the wounds on her leg for me.

Rounding on him, I glared for a moment, prepared to shoo away anybody who would dare touch Alza. I had been raised to take care of horses and knew how to treat many of their ailments.

In the face of my silent stare, the horse master began to back away, hands raised.

“Wait.”

He paused. I chewed on my tongue. He would have supplies I did not carry on the road.

“I do not want her wounds to become infected.”

The horse master nodded. “I can prepare a poultice to cleanse her wounds. I’ll add something for the pain and swelling as well.”

I stayed with Alza until he returned, taking the bowl of greenish paste from his hands. He hovered as if he had planned to apply it himself.

“She’s rather particular,” I offered by way of explanation.

With that, he nodded and scurried away.

“Thank you,” I offered to his retreating back, and he froze as if he hadn’t expected my gratitude. Then he retreated to the far side of the enclosure where the other horses gathered.

By the time Alza’s wounds had been tended to my satisfaction, the sun was dipping below the horizon. I grabbed my packs, resting on the ground near the fence, and headed off to pitch my tent at the edges of the encampment. My small structure, the bare minimum needed for privacy when traveling, looked meager compared to the larger tents of families and riders—those tents had been erected for an encampment that would be in place for weeks if not months near a water source before picking up and moving to follow the game they hunted.

As I finished driving the spikes to support my shelter into the ground, the fluttering of wings caught my attention. The falcon had flown off when I entered the encampment, and I suspected it would find a new master among the clan it had once camped with. Instead, he settled near me now, looking at me expectantly. I exhaled heavily through my nose.

Before I could tell the animal that I had no food for him, and he would have to hunt for himself, shrieking split the air. I dropped the folded canvas bundled in my arms, leaving my tent half erected as I dashed toward the noise.

I found the source of the commotion easily enough. A young woman lay on the ground, bleeding out of a deep gash in her leg. A man crouched over her, long, curved dagger drawn as his eyes flickered between the injured woman and the darkness beyond the edge of the encampment.

Others had come running as well, and now a shouting mass of confusion surrounded them.

“What attacked her?” someone shouted. “Is it caracals? Red wolves?”

The man shook his head, eyes narrowed as if trying to pick out a shape in the night that had fallen around us. I looked in the direction he stared.

“It was so fast. I didn’t see it. It looked like…a skeleton.”

The voices scoffed in unison at his admission.

“You sneak off with a woman to steal a kiss, and it turns your head so bad you can’t recognize a beast.”

“Attacked by a skeleton?”

I would have been ready to join them in their disbelief if it hadn’t been for the image of glowing purple eyes set in a too-long feline body. Just the day before I had been attacked by a creature of legend. Who knew what prowled the sands at night?

Turning and scanning the crowd, I found a man holding a torch. I snatched it out of his hand before he could protest. He opened his mouth to argue, but upon seeing my mask, his snapped it shut .

“I’ll find what attacked her,” I volunteered. The assembled crowd quieted, mocking derision turning to hushed whispers as I drew my saber. With a blade in one hand and a torch in the other, I marched out into the sands.

My boots sunk into the soft powder as I trudged, holding my light aloft. Either it would help me get a good look at my quarry, or it would scare off any lingering predators. It was odd that a caracal or a red wolf would attack an encampment, but if hunting grew difficult for the clans, then it would for other predators as well.

A muffled scuffle behind me drew my attention, and I whirled around, pointing the light in the direction of the noise. I was greeting by only blank sand. Still, the sensation of something skirting just around my pool of light persisted.

I continued further away from the encampment, assuming most animals would be scared away by the large group of people now gathered at the edge. Even in times of duress, a predator would prefer to pick off one or two individuals lingering on the outskirts.

By now, I could no longer hear the speculation of the clansmen I had left behind. Another scratching noise grabbed my attention, and I spun in a circle, trying in vain to catch sight of my prey. Seeing nothing, I stilled, slowing even my own breathing to catch any sound of it in the darkness. All that greeted me was the distinct scent of the desert after rain.

I tensed the moment before it was upon me. It wasn’t enough, knocking the torch out of my hand as I used the momentum of my fall to roll out of its grasp. With the light from the flame low and scattered, I couldn’t get a good look at the creature as I sprang to my feet. As I thrust my saber out in front of me, creating a barrier between me and my attacker, I got the vague sense of too many limbs and a clattering of bones.

The flickering fire only gave me the vague impression of a writhing mass before it charged once more. Waiting until the last possible second, I side stepped, turning as I did to strike out at its side. My blade connected with a thump, and a disembodied limb fell to the ground. For a moment of stomach-clenching horror, it registered as an emaciated human arm before I was distracted by another claw-like appendage swiping at my face.

The metal of my mask deflected the blow, although it screeched across the metal at a pitch that made my teeth ache. I parried the next blow, a kick from what looked like the skeletal foreleg of a horse.

The next series of blows came too fast to follow, faster than would be possible with two appendages, or even four. Still, the shape of the creature eluded me. As I backed up, unable to block or parry every strike, I tripped over a snakelike tail thrust behind my ankles.

I toppled to the ground, wind rushing from my lungs. I didn’t have time to catch my breath before rolling to the side to avoid being trampled by the charging creature. As it changed course, I turned this way and that, avoiding the stomping of too many feet, one landed on my hand, knocking my saber away.

Weaponless, I cast around for my sword, but the creature drove me away from where I had dropped it. In the darkness, I couldn’t spot it to make my way back to it. Instead, my gaze caught on the torch, still burning fitfully in the sands a few arms’ lengths away from me. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed to my elbows, pulling myself toward it as fast as I could. I dodged quickly to the left as a whistle by my ear warned me of an incoming attack but kept my eye on my goal.

Right before I could reach the torch, a heavy weight landed between my shoulder blades. My forehead hit the ground as I was pinned down. I thrust my arm out in the direction of the torch as the force shoved me down. The wooden handle just scraped my fingertips.

With the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the leash on my magic was already lose, and the barest hint of my power was all it took to draw the torch the last inches into my hand. It was as if the threads connecting everything in the desert pulled taught to bring the world into alignment.

I swung at it blindly, and the weight on my back lifted. Not wasting a moment, I rolled onto my back, waving the lit torch before me. The creature reared back from the flames, and I got my first good look at it.

A shapeless mass of tattered flesh served as the centroid for a nauseating amalgamation of limbs. Arms and legs from every type of human and beast imaginable sprouted from the central body at disjointed angles. While some were fleshy, most were skeletal, or only had the barest hints of skin hanging from ravaged bone.

Whatever the creature was, it seemed to fear fire. It lifted many of its limbs as if to shield itself from the light, although I saw no eyes. Before I could take advantage of its retreat and scuttle the rest of the way out from under it, the creature seemed to recover from the shock of the light. It fell on me once more.

Without a blade in hand, I did the only thing I could think of. I shoved the lit torch as hard as I could through the mass of writhing limbs into the creature’s center. A horrible screeching split the air, although I did not know from where, since the creature didn’t appear to have a mouth. It tried to writhe away from me, but I followed it, pressing the torch into it until the stench of rotting flesh filled the air.

After an eternity of twitching, the creature finally fell limp, nearly pinning me beneath it. I just managed to pull back in time to avoid the brunt of its weight. By now, my torch was mostly extinguished, smothered by the creature’s flesh and leaving me in the dark. Only the glimmer from the camps braziers a way off and the silvery moon lit my actions as I pushed to my feet. Carefully, I felt around for my saber, finding it a few paces away; I was steadied by its weight in my hand. I kept it unsheathed, not knowing if there may be more of the creatures.

Turning back to my felled enemy, I considered the lifeless lump for a long moment before bending to sling it over my shoulders. It was an awkward affair, as misshapen as it was, but I managed to load it onto my back.

With the monstrosity in tow and my blade in hand, I trekked back to the encampment.

By the time I arrived, the group I left had doubled in size. They had to have heard the creatures screeching in its death throes. At the front of the crowd stood the lords of the five clans.

I dumped the creature at their feet with a clatter of bones.

Gasps greeted the sight of misshapen limbs, all attached at the center as if by a deranged doll maker. The lords hid their shock well, but the lord from clan Padra didn’t completely suppress her wince. It was not lost on me that none of them had come to aid me in the fight, although the noise of battle would have easily carried through the night to the encampment. Perhaps they thought I would be killed, and our bargain would be void.

“A bone spider,” the lord of Clan Tibel observed dispassionately, although he could not fully hide the edge of concern in his voice.

Now that he said it, the term knocked a memory loose, a tale from an old scroll in a stone library. All sorts of monsters roamed the desert before the first man crossed it, claiming the magic and the right to live here for the clans. Old texts described lava wyrms and flying terrors, but the bone spiders had been hard to picture. Now I could see why: they defied explanation.

The old scroll I had come across while searching for explanation of the power that flowed through me said they were born as faceless, directionless masses of flesh. They roamed aimlessly, stealing the limbs off corpses and out of graves, attaching them to its form without rhyme or reason. As it collected limbs, it grew bolder, attacking living beings to take their limbs too, adding to the overwhelming mass of bones and rotting flesh.

Somebody at the back of the crowd retched.

“The day before yesterday I confronted a Sichat, and now a bone spider attacks your clans. Legends are waking, and the desert is angry.” I stabbed my saber at the fallen creature in emphasis.

“All the more reason we must protect our own people and not waste our riders on useless wars,” the lord of Clan Padra said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Perhaps the terrors will cease when a true Champion of the Desert rises.” The lord of Clan Otush fixed me with hard eyes. “After all, she has been without for too long.”

“The desert will have her Champion.”

The ride back to Clan Katal was thankfully less eventful than the journey to Clan Tibel. Alza whickered happily, ears pricking forward at the sounds of clashing steel as riders trained drifted toward us.

While I knew Lord Alasdar would be waiting for news, especially after our trip had been longer than expected, I rode to the enclosure where the horses were kept first and tended to Alza. I wasn’t willing to leave her to the horse master of the clan after her injury, preferring to tend her myself. While the man may be competent enough, my father had taught me to take care of my mounts better than most. For a moment, I could picture my father bending over a new foal in the Kelvadan stables with a fond smile on his face.

I forcefully shook the errant thought from my head and focused on examining Alza’s hooves for any cracks, satisfied when I found none. As I finished unloading my packs of gear from her back, the falcon that had perched on the bundles fluttered away to hunt. I didn’t pay him much mind, sure he would be back. He had flown away several times on the long ride, only to reappear later and perch on my shoulder, once with the tail of a lizard dangling from his beak.

I brushed through Alza’s mane once more, and she head butted me in the chest, as if telling me to stop worrying over her and let her eat her arrowgrass in peace.

She snorted in response to my giving her nose one last pat before trudging off to Lord Alasdar’s tent. As expected, he was already sitting at his table, perusing a parchment when I arrived.

“I take it Clan Tibel will be arriving in a few days?” he asked, glancing up from his table.

I swallowed. I did not take failing Lord Alasdar lightly.

“Clan Tibel was not alone when I arrived,” I started, kneeling on a rug across the low table from him. His gaze snapped up to mine. He met my eyes through the slit in the mask, something very few people did, making me feel exposed. The woman, Keera, had been the same. I blinked at the sudden thought of her.

“What other clan was present?” he asked sharply.

“All of them that are not yet here. They had heard of our endeavors and joined together so they would not be intimidated by Clan Katal.”

The candles and lanterns in the enclosed space all flared brighter as Lord Alasdar slammed an open hand on the table. His own magic tugged on its tether in his ire, and I could feel it thicken in the air around me. Still, he succeeded in controlling his more tightly than I did, free of the incessant whispering clouding his mind. He had taught me how to control my magic better, but I could never rid myself of the constant noise of the desert.

“Five clans would still not be able to stand against my might,” he spat out.

“Nor mine, but I did not want to decimate forces we will need to destroy Kelvadan.”

“So you let them defy me?” Lord Alasdar’s eyes sparked. I bowed my head.

“I made a deal. They said they would follow the Champion of the Ballan Trials. I will be that Champion.”

The fire remained in his gaze even as he cocked his head. “They would join with Clan Katal if you are the one who wins the Trials.”

“I am your sword,” I admitted honestly. If he would simply point me in a direction, I would kill whomever he wished. I was the Viper and little else. “Besides, you are the rightful Champion to anybody who follows the old ways already.”

This seemed to placate Lord Alasdar, and he leaned back on his hands, although his eyes remained narrowed as he observed me.

“You will have to go to Kelvadan for the Trials, be under the queen’s watchful eye.”

“I will do what I must,” was my only reply. I did not relish camping in the shadow of the city for the duration of the Trials, but I had endured worse. Lord Alasdar had ensured I could be strong.

He nodded, expression already shuttering off. I could nearly see him recalculating his plan, always the one who was two steps ahead, allowing me to simply be a weapon.

“You will need to continue training the riders in the meantime and shape the forces we have already into a force that can take on Kelvadan. We can’t afford to be starting from scratch when the rest of the clans arrive. I expect to see you conditioning them every day until the Trials.”

I understood the command as the dismissal it was and nodded my assent before departing. Alza and I had ridden all day to get back to the encampment, and now the shadows of the tents stretched long across orange-stained sands as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

As night fell, I sat in my tent, sharpening my saber and my dirk. The encampment stirred outside with people cooking around communal fires, riders coming back from a day of training to linger in groups. A feminine giggle from a joke some warrior told drifted through the fabric of my tent flap. I dragged the whetstone more forcefully across the long, subtle curve of my saber, drowning out the sounds of camaraderie with the metallic shink. The whisper in my mind grew louder, as if trying to call out to me even as I ignored it.

Nights like these reminded me why I preferred camping in the wilds with only Alza for company. Hearing people around me only reminded me how I was other—the Viper charged with leading the riders but never one of them.

It made me want to leave on my mask, the constant physical representation of my separation from those around me. The exhaustion from my travels wore on me, and I chided myself, unfastening the metal from my face. Tonight, I would rest, and in the morning, I would train alongside the riders of the united clans, continuing with my mission of healing the shattered desert.

Just as darkness was about to overtake me, blissfully silencing my mind, my heart stuttered in my chest. I shot bolt upright as magic surged through me, unbidden and without warning. My skull was too small for the power that surged in my head, and I plunged my hands into my hair tugging at it like it would alleviate some of the pressure.

I screwed my eyes shut, leashing my magic through sheer force of will, as if I was taming a wild horse, just as I had Alza. Pounding a closed fist on my thigh, I focused on the dull ache it caused in my flesh, letting it pull me back into my body where my mind had moments ago threatened to scatter over the desert.

As the magic receded from my body, settling back into the incessant whisper I had learned to tolerate, the stirring air in my tent from the disturbance settled. A faint taste of panic lingered in my mouth, but distant, as if it weren’t really mine. I breathed in and out through my nose, pounding my fist into my thigh a few more times for good measure. Pain was one of the best antidotes to my uncontrolled magic I had found, although it had been years since I had lost my grip on it with no warning.

These days, the magic of the desert stirred restlessly, and it dragged me along with it.